circostanze che ricordano
by Emilamoo
Summary: "And then, suddenly, Will is back in his office three years ago, forlornly watching her retreat from a very similar situation that involved the same pairs of lips and hands. He feels the same sense of dread and hopelessness he did then, watching the woman he loves escape from his grasp." Spoilers for 4x14: "Red Team, Blue Team."


**A/N: Let me just take a moment to applaud the writers for a fantastic episode Sunday, not just for the Willicia moment. The entire show was phenomenal. Anywho, this is basically The Scene in Will's POV, but with a twist at the end. This is also my first attempt at The Good Wife fanfiction, if that accounts for anything, as well as the first FF I've posted in nearly a year (it'll be a year in 10 days).**

**FYI: "circostanze che ricordano" means "Recalling Circumstances" in Italian. **

**Spoilers: 4x14, "Red Team, Blue Team"**

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circostanze che ricordano

The law firm of Lockhart & Gardner is dark and silent as Will strides out of the elevator and across the carpet, headed for his office. He's still beyond livid, all but trembling with rage. How dare she? How _dare _she? Throwing him under the bus like that, humiliating him- no, _mortifying _him. It didn't matter whether it was mock court or not; those were real people, with very real opinions, and his all-too-real clients were panicking, beginning to reconsider. He had a liability impending over his head. He couldn't have clients doubting the ability of their law firm.

And all because Alicia wanted to be a hot shot.

She was letting emotions spur her actions. She was in a huff about the budget restrictions in which they had to delay her partnership, so now she had to give them a scare. But he'd much appreciate it if she didn't do it with his name on the line.

He'd put way too much into this firm to get it positive notoriety for her to risk it all; he'd had enough.

Noticing a light coming from her office, he considers fuming in the peace of his office but decides against it, turning on his heel and storming the short distance until he sees Alicia flipping through some files. The glass door whooshes open as he barges through without preamble, wooden panels shuddering with the force of his push.

Not wasting any time or holding anything back, he fires at her instantly, watching her startle. "You got a problem, you bring it to me; you don't take it to court."

Any primal confusion is instantly replaced with defense, as he figures he should expect from one in their particular profession. "What? I'm a lawyer; _you _hired _us._"

His eyes squint slightly as he all but snarls. "I asked you to take this seriously." His voice is seething, barely masking his vehemence and frustration in a horribly poor attempt.

Her response is relatively level, surprising for the situation. All it does is piss him off, though. He doesn't want a calm argument. He wants her to_ react_, to reveal any bit of that emotion he knows is bubbling beneath her carefully constructed surface. "I am taking this seriously."

No. That simply won't do.

"You're losing us a client!" he barks, his voice taking on the harsh rasp that accommodates his ferocity.

Alicia rounds her desk to step closer to him, her voice rising just slightly but scaling up an octave, the way a voice does when its owner is losing the will to react as calmly as it had been. Will nearly cheers "amen;" finally, a reaction.

"That's not my fault!"

He knows he's pushing the limits, but it's too late; he can't seem to stop, his accusations rolling off his tongue to bellow in her face without his consent. And when did they get so _close _to each other? "It damn well is your fault!"

She explodes so suddenly, as if everything leading up to this were the spark of ignition on a ticking time bomb, that, had he not been so worked up, he would have stumbled backward by the sheer force of her cry. "Well, then, take us off it; fire us!"

Oh, no, not a chance in 's not going to let her manipulate him to letting her go so she has justification to go prance off with Cary pretending like she never needed the firm, never needed _him_. He knows that's not true, refuses to believe it's true, but that's what he's beginning to feel with the current way she's treating him. Doesn't she trust him? After all they've been through, he feels that's the least he deserves.

Now he's being just as bad as she is. He's allowing his emotions to get the better of him, enabling his petty... _feelings _to fuel his behavior. That was the reason she was upset with her in the first place. Yet, despite his hypocrisy, he plows on, delivering blows driven only by his wounded pride.

"That's what you want, huh?" he demands cruelly, his face jutting forward and erasing even more space between them, a scowl clawing its way to his features. "That's what these meetings with clients- is that what it's about?"

"Oh my God," she scoffs, voice lowering in volume and curls bouncing with the heat of her scold, "listen to yourself, Will." Her expression is one purely of disgust, of utter repulsion and disdain at his unloading of childish emotions. Well, her opinions of him be damned; it was an exceedingly rare case in which he ever spoke freely of such things, and, once he got started, he didn't plan on stopping anytime soon. "You are not the injured party here."

He has no intentions of permitting her to switch this around, not now, and he suppresses the dire urge to roll his eyes. "Oh, what, and you are?"

Blatantly fed up with him, her voice reaches an intensity he's never experienced before in his entire lifetime knowing her, eyes bearing into his. "_I am, yes!_"

His face draws back in alarm a bit. Her uproar contains the same vigor he admires when she's kicking ass in court. That's why she's one of the best; she won't take crap from anyone, and everyone knows it. There's an indescribable power to her, a fire, one that commands the attention of everyone in the room when she enters. She's a fighter, a warrior, refusing to give up without a damn rough battle, and he absolutely loves that about her. Hell, if he's being honest, it's probably the main reason he fell in love with her.

She's like him, in a way, full of an insurmountable mass of power that is bound to erupt in a full-fledged power struggle when it's been bottle up long enough.

Like now.

The tension hangs thick, heavily in the air, draped between them, a measurement of mere inches. She's staring at him, outraged beyond words, no doubt, body stance alert and chest heaving, as if ready to launch into Round Two at any given moment. He doesn't want that, though.

Because, behind that inferno in her eyes, he can see the hurt. He can see how upset she is at being delayed her partnership, at having been taken away the promise she'd worked so hard for. There's a pain in her expression, a pain that reflects the slowly lowering self-esteem in her, the worry nagging at her that she isn't good enough, a feeling she most certainly doesn't deserve to feel. He wants to somehow convince her that she shouldn't worry, wants her to feel safe and secure and to trust him again. So, he does the first thing that comes to mind.

Will tugs on her arm, draws her that little way to him, and brands her lips with his.

She responds at once, mouth opening beneath him and hand clamping down on the back of his neck in a vice grip. A high-pitched but soft "Mmm" escapes her from the back of her throat, and he wants to hear it again, wants to hear it while he's rolling his hips into hers, forcing her to arch into him with a significant lack of clothing.

However, as his lips glide over her devastating mouth, he realizes this won't be the likely outcome. He can feel her hand slipping to splay on his shoulder, her movements and fervor diminishing slowly but surely as she struggles to process what's occurring. He doesn't want her to go, though, not quite yet, otherwise he's not sure he'll ever work up the courage to pull something like this again.

In a vain attempt to grasp at straws, Will kisses her more deeply, desperate. It doesn't work, and he restrains a curse dancing on the tip of his tongue at the lack of her body heat when she breaks off, gaze locked on the floor. "Oh, damn it."

"No, no no no no no no no," he groans quietly, head tilting backward as his fuzzy mind begins to clear rapidly, the reality of her torn rejection hits him all too quickly.

Alicia flees from the room without another word, not bothering to grab her possessions and fingers raking over her forehead and through her dark tresses.

And then, suddenly, Will is back in his office three years ago, forlornly watching her retreat from a very similar situation that involved the same pairs of lips and hands. He feels the same sense of dread and hopelessness he did then, watching the woman he loves escape from his grasp.

His feet feel cemented to the floor, legs like lead. He should go. He should leave and give her some space; he could suggest they avoid being alone, hence reducing the chances of mishaps like this, the next day. But one of the biggest regrets in his life was not chasing after her that night of their first kiss since Georgetown. And he is not willing to make that mistake a second time.

Mind made up, Will races after her, jogging to cross the threshold and make his way down the hall leading to the elevators. He needs to see her, even if just to talk. As he rounds the corner, he can vaguely make out Alicia berating herself, and he calls her name. She's just in the process of smacking her forehead, the insult "idiot" dying on her lips when his shoulder jams through the closing steel doors. Her gaze lock on his, and he can see her fear as well as desire; her pupils are hugely dilated, eyes flashing to his mouth briefly before flickering back to mocha brown orbs. With a soft ping, the doors slide shut, sealing them together.

He presses the freeze button, and the elevator jolts to a stop.

~FIN

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**A/N: You can all make up your own endings in your imaginations, bwahaha.**


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